


Selected Scenes from the Crystal Castle

by CollisionTheory



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Gen, I will add more characters in the tags as I write more, I'll just update this as I get more ideas, Most likely the Skeksis will be the main focus but I'm not going to rule out the castle guards, This is actually rated G for now but I put T just in case future chapters are more weird I guess, or if somebody suggests a really good one that I like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20983385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollisionTheory/pseuds/CollisionTheory
Summary: A random collection of scenes/scenarios in the Crystal Castle. These have no specific order and it'll be updated as I think of more.





	Selected Scenes from the Crystal Castle

SkekAyuk lumbered up the dim stairwell leading out of the freezing root cellar, arms clutching a collection of purplish-green roots ringed in bulbous projections. He breathed heavily with his mouth open, eager to return to the kitchen and experiment with- what were these things called again? He’d completely forgotten. The Spriton farmers that had given them as tithes to the castle had told SkekOk that they were a new cultivar of a local root vegetable, bred for deep flavor and a pungent kick. He’d recorded some information on the variety and had told SkekAyuk what they were called, but that name was now lost to the Gourmand (who was infinitely more concerned with their flavor and applications anyway.)

He had reached the door out of the cellar now. There he paused for a moment, letting the humid air of his lungs tumble along the constricted segments of his trachea before it escaped his jaws with a wheeze and rattle. Not wanting to let go of the root vegetables, SkekAyuk leaned forward as far as he could and pressed on the wood of the door with his forehead to open it, but it would not budge. It was either stuck or locked.

“Ohhh no….”

Grumbling, he shimmied his rotund body about somewhat and heaved it against the door. All the applied force was immediately directed back at SkekAyuk, for the door still would not budge. He fumbled backwards, clutching his armful of roots more tightly now and upset at how things were going. A simple thing of wood was impeding the growth of his culinary genius! He tried again several more times, each harder than the last, and each with the same result. The roots were pressing dirt into clothes, and his (in his opinion) frail and underfed constitution was likely now bruised from the abuse it had suffered at the hands of this door. Awful. His jowls quivered in minor indignation.

He swayed about and called back into the cool darkness of the root cellar in a voice louder than strictly necessary.

“PODLINGS! PODDLIINNGGSS!”

The Skeksis’ needlessly dramatic warble was soon answered by few of the black-clad podlings that were down there taking inventory, their shuffling feet joining some hoarse vowel-laden sounds issuing from their potato-like faces. Soon they were there with him at the top of the stairs. SkekAyuk stared down at them fidgeting before him.

“Open this door for your Lord.” 

A gray haired podling moved up a few steps, squeezing past the stiff fabric of the Gourmand’s robes until he was in front of the door. In one simple motion, he reached up and slid open a latch that secured the door. The podling did not even look at SkekAyuk as he made his way back down to the stair where his companion stood.

This was beyond words.

Frustration mounting, SkekAyuk threw his bulk once more against the door to open it without needing to let go of the roots. He unfortunately committed to this action mere microseconds before remembering that the door opened inwards.

It slammed violently open, returning a greater part of the force the Skeksis had pummeled it with when he heaved his body into it. SkekAyuk cried out, his dismay piercing through false night of the root cellar and ricocheting down into the hall beyond as he and his armful of bulbous roots tumbled backwards in a flurry of dirt, silk, and shame.

Contrary to all natural laws of momentum, the Gourmand somehow just barely remained on his scaly, swollen feet, albeit several steps backwards and without any of the roots he had so laboriously dragged up here. Indignity! Dizzy and furious, and now somewhat thirsty, he rounded on the cluster of his servants frantically gathering up his collection of roots from all around the stairs and the floor.

SkekAyuk hurled his voice downwards at them, his poor mood getting even worse as he imagined the Chamberlain and his gentle  _ hmmmm _ smirking and smiling at his misfortune somewhere off in the darkness.

“Pusillanimous podlings!!!” He didn’t actually know what that word meant, but he had heard SkekTek use it once. He wasn’t likely to go and ask him about it either- the Scientist’s mad pursuits were dangerous and beyond comprehension, and SkekAyuk wanted as little to do with him and his pnictogen-ridden lab as possible.

The Gourmand finally accepted his bulbous roots back and finally excited through the door, heading for the kitchens.

Pnictogen. That was another word SkekTek had used.

SkekAyuk would make sure to use it next time. 


End file.
